


Patience

by pennedbymazoji



Series: Little One [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Breeding, Christmas Smut, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Engagement, Ephebophilia, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, I'm Going to Hell, Incest, Loss of Virginity, Mirror Sex, POV Second Person, Parent/Child Incest, Reader is 14, Reader-Insert, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennedbymazoji/pseuds/pennedbymazoji
Summary: You finally have the perfect Christmas gift for your Daddy.A sequel to Little One.//Please read the tags and author's note before consuming this fic.//
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Hannibal Lecter/You
Series: Little One [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019679
Comments: 12
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please, for the love of god, READ THE TAGS. This fic has the potential to be extremely triggering, as it involves actual father/daughter incest and statutory rape, even though it is portrayed as consensual. The reader character in this fic is only thirteen years old, and Hannibal is around canon age. Please do not interact with this fic if any of these will be triggering for you, or if you are a minor.
> 
> This work is not meant to condone, romanticize, or normalize incest and pedophilia. The behaviors and actions portrayed are reprehensible. I am working through my own issues by creating this, and I hope that those who experience similar issues might find this in some way cathartic. I was groomed by a father figure in my life from the age of twelve. Fanfic is how I take control of that situation and make it less triggering. Please keep that in mind before you decide to send me hate.
> 
> If you are in a situation where you are being taken advantage of by a family member, please tell someone that you trust or contact the local authorities.
> 
> Also, a huge thank you to my dearest Tali for helping me get this finished after three months!!!

Overwhelmed, you squirm in Hannibal's grasp, only stilling when one of his palms presses against the expanse of your stomach and a soft moan comes from behind you. His erection is pressed into the curve of your ass, and you long to grind down, encourage him to rut up against you, but you force yourself to stay still, just as he wants you to. Your eyes are squeezed shut, fingers twisted in the sheets at your sides. 

"Beloved." The sound of his voice combined with the feeling of his hands, large and warm, skimming up your sides jolts you back to reality, your eyes opening once more to take in the sight before you. Hannibal has you in his lap while he himself sits on the edge of the bed, your knees hooked on the outside of his thighs to keep your legs open. In front of you is a full-length mirror, reflecting the image of both of you. The sight makes you let out a weak sound, spasming weakly as even more slick drips from your small body. 

"Daddy," you whine, voice high and plaintive as your father reaches up to brush your hair over one shoulder before pressing his lips to the flushed skin of your neck.

"Gorgeous," he praises, reflected maroon eyes locked onto yours. "My pretty, perfect daughter." He's somewhat dressed down, in black slacks and a deep red button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You long to turn your head, to nuzzle into his collar, but the position won't let you. There's a quick spark of pain when he nips at your earlobe. "Come, now. Pay attention."

You bite your lip, worrying the flesh between the sharp edges of your teeth, and nod. 

Hannibal makes a low, pleased sound as both hands snake around your body to cup your breasts, feeling their fullness and shape. "You're filling out so well, mažoji." His lips brush the shell of your ear and his thumbs run over your hardening nipples, causing your body to tense and a whimper to escape your throat. "Daddy adores how sensitive you are."

"So sensitive," you breathlessly repeat as your father rocks up against you just once before his fingers trail down your stomach, then lower, running through the thickening patch of hair he finds. He hums contentedly while you fight to remain motionless. "Daddy…"

"I know," he soothes, but a wicked grin stretches his mouth and his eyes flash. His fingers slip further down and spread, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze. His other hand pets your inner thigh for just a second before moving inward, one fingertip beginning to rub small circles of the sensitive bundle of nerves near the top of your folds. “What’s this, princess?”

Your hands fly behind you to grip at the back of his hair, hips bucking involuntarily. “M-my clit, daddy,” you stammer, and his responding groan sounds almost pained. You can’t look away from your reflection, from where he’s touching you. “Fuck, daddy, that feels so good.”

“Language,” he admonishes before abandoning his task, moving instead to stroke over your entrance. “It must feel good, look at how wet you are.” His eyes are angled downwards, just as yours are, looking at the way his skin is already coated with your juices. “Are you ready, darling?”

You nod, and Hannibal slowly slips one finger inside, your body already so desperate for his touch that it offers no resistance. The digit curls inside of you just as he inhales deeply, scenting your arousal. The motion brushes a sensitive spot within you that causes your muscles to clench, toes curling as you tug on his hair so hard you can see tears forming in the corner of his eyes. The look within them is inquisitive, and he doesn’t even have to speak for you to respond.

‘That’s- oh, that’s my G-spot, daddy.” You’re panting at this point, barely able to get enough air to form words, but this is all part of the game. Sometimes, now that you’ve allowed him to fully take control of your education and homeschool you, your father acts under the guise of a teacher, this aspect of your relationship merely another lesson in his curriculum. “Fuck, _fuck,_ more. Please, more.” He growls, a second finger plunging into you alongside the first, and your back curves in an obscene arch, head tilted back to the ceiling and resting on his shoulder.

“That’s it, little one,” he coos, using the fingers inside of you and opposite forearm wrapped around your torso to pull you further back on his lap to alleviate the strain on his wrist. The new position allows him to bury his fingers farther inside you, heel of his palm grinding against your clit. “Oh, good girl, you can take me even deeper than last time. Can you feel?” It's so intense, the friction and deep, even thrusting driving all thought from your brain: you can’t respond, only able to mewl and moan in between heaving breaths. He doesn’t seem to expect a reply, head turning so he can kiss along your jaw and cheek as he moves faster, rubs harder until your thighs are shaking. You can feel your orgasm approaching rapidly, vision whiting around the edges, and you’re just about to open your mouth to beg when Hannibal’s voice cuts through the sound of your blood rushing through your ears. “Come. Right now, princess.”

You’re helpless to obey, sobbing and squeezing so tight that his fingers are forced out of you while you jerk in his hold. Hannibal presses up into you, so painfully hard that the undulation of your hips against his palm is enough to throw him over the edge with you, his own release wetting the fabric of his pants that wasn’t already drenched from where you had leaked onto him.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, but you stretch your neck upward to look in the mirror again, catching your father as he brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers between his lips, drinking down the taste of your slick with an expression close to bliss. A giggle bursts forward from your chest, and he catches your eye in the reflection to wink at you.

"Thank you, daddy," you breathe, standing on wobbling knees. Hannibal removes his fingers from his mouth with an audible _pop_ and gives you a smile, skin wrinkling around his eyes and just a hint of his teeth peeking out from behind his lips. You offer him your hand, and he takes it in his as he rises. “Is it bathtime?”

“Yes, beloved,” Hannibal purrs, stepping up close and wrapping his strong arms around you. He leans down and captures your lips, kissing you deeply before leading you to the bathroom, one arm still curled around your waist even as he turns on the faucet and begins filling the tub, steam rising off the hot water. “You did so well today, little one. Daddy’s very proud of you.” 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, spinning out from his grasp to reach for the bubble bath on one of the shelves near the bath. The gel swirls with the rushing water when you pour it in, filling the air with a light peach scent.

Your father remains quiet as he strips methodically, depositing each soiled garment in the hamper in the corner of the room. He settles into the water first, as he always does, reclining against the edge of the tub. He reaches out and takes your hand as you step in, hissing slightly at the scalding temperature, but despite the initial twinge of pain it’s just as you like. Sinking below the bubbles as you sit, you lean back against your father’s chest as his strong arms wrap around your frame.

“Do you think I’m almost big enough to take your cock, daddy?” You question quietly, shifting slightly in his grasp so you can rest your head on his shoulder and run your wet fingers through his chest hair, sticking it down to his skin. “It’s been almost a year now.”

Hannibal makes a considering noise, but you can smell the brightness of excitement on his skin, feel the interested twitch of his sex against your thigh. 

“I think so, mažoji,” he replies, eyes flashing as he looks down at you. You can feel your breath catch in your chest at the look, trailing one of your hands to his nipple to scratch the sharp edge of your nail over it. He gives a weak groan, grabbing your wrist and bringing your arm back down. He isn’t able to get hard again quite so quickly, you’re well aware, but you still give him a teasing pout before he continues speaking. “I won’t force you, my dearest. You must come to me when you think you are completely ready. That next step is entirely in your hands.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you nod, merely resting for now and listening to the steady beat of his heart in his chest. You knew from the beginning he wouldn’t force you, but there had been an expectation that he would be the one to push the boundary, to initiate each escalation. You have no problem demanding attention or touch, but only after he’d been the one to teach you, guide you, set you atop his thigh like he had in the beginning. 

“Be calm, little girl,” Hannibal says quietly. It’s as though he can read your mind, rocking you slowly in his arms, causing the water around you to slosh up the sides of the tub and release more of the sweet scent from the bubble bath used. “When you’re ready, I shall take care of you. All you must do is inform me that you have made your decision.” Your body relaxes slightly at his words, and he reaches for the light-pink bottle of shampoo. “Now, let me wash your hair.”

A month passes, then two. The chilly evenings of fall shift into the bitterly cold nights of winter without a signal that you’re ready to let Hannibal fully have you, but he never badgers or rushes you. It isn’t until a few days before Christmas, when you’re helping him hang ornaments from the tree, that it hits you.

It’s all so… perfect. There’s cheesy carols playing from the speaker, homemade hot chocolate on the table. A fire is blazing, warm and bright, in the fireplace and the light catches Hannibal’s hair, making it look blond while the shadows deepen the lines on his face. He looks so soft, stretching to hook a silver bulb from one of the upper boughs you can’t reach. You’ve seen him feral and snarling, drenched in blood. You’ve studied the look on his face as he comes, mouth open around a gasp and eyes rolling back. Now, he looks radiant, truly happy with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he glances at you from the corner of one warm, blood-red eye like the world revolves around you. Like he’d slaughter thousands and topple empires just to come home and kneel at your feet.

You love him. Oh, god, do you love him, and not in the way you’re supposed to. Not in the way daughters love their fathers, the way family loves family. He is Hades, and you are fully willing to eat the pomegranate seed and be his Persephone. You want to be his _everything_.

Despite your revelation, you continue decorating quietly and cuddle up to him on the couch after, sipping your hot chocolate and letting him pet through your hair while you scheme. He always lets you open one gift early, just before bed on Christmas Eve. A smile spreads across your face, one that you bury into the collar of his sweater to hide, because this year, you’ll have one for him.


	2. Chapter 2

It feels like you blink and it’s the evening of December twenty-fourth, the sun having long since disappeared below the horizon. You and Hannibal eat dinner together as you always do, sipping on mulled wine that you’re technically too young to consume. It’s only half a glass, too little to get you drunk or impair your thinking, but it warms your limbs, loosens your tongue just a bit. By the time you finish and dry the dishes and he carries you up the stairs to the bedroom, like he always does, you’re as ready as you ever will be.

He sets you on the bed reverently, lips just brushing yours before he pulls back to sort through the drawer of his nightstand. You push yourself up into a sitting position, and he turns, a small box wrapped in gold paper cradled in his palm. 

"Merry Christmas, mylimoji," Hannibal says, sitting next to you as you pluck the gift from his hands to turn it over in yours. Slowly, you work open the paper and remove the lid, mouth falling open when you catch sight of what's inside. 

Against the bedding of black satin is a ring. It's stunning, and your hands shake as you move to hold it. The large clear stone adorning the center refracts the light, the simple gold band so polished you can nearly see your reflection in the curved surface. Threaded through the opening is another simple, linked chain of gold. 

You don't have to ask. You can feel the uncharacteristic tremor in your father's fingers as he fastens the clasp around your neck, but he tries to offer clarification anyway. 

"I thought…" His voice is rough, and he stops to clear his throat. You turn, slowly, and rest a hand on his chest, the ring a solid, if slight, weight where it rests against your chest.

"Yes, daddy," you cut him off, eyes already welling with tears that you desperately attempt to blink away. "When I'm older?" 

"Eighteen, I imagine." He sounds awed, reaching up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a drop of wetness that falls from the corner of your eye. "We will need to leave Baltimore." You can't even say anything, just nod and throw yourself into his arms. The solid weight of them wraps around you, and you bury your face in your father’s chest. You don’t care about your life in Baltimore, about this facade that the two of you put forth for the world. The only thing you desire is him, however and wherever that may be.

“Daddy,” you finally say, gazing up into his eyes. There’s reverence within the maroon of his irises, a sentiment you reflect back. He is, always has been, always will be, the deity you offer yourself up as a sacrifice for. “I’m ready.”

Time stops. Hannibal is frozen against you except for his hands, flexing on your lower back, itching to pull you closer. Instead, you pull away from him and stand, a smile gracing your face.

When you spin, the skirt of your deep-red dress fans out around your thighs, still swinging as you come to a stop. The fabric fits loosely around your body, no zipper to speak of, so you’re able to grab the hem and pull it up to your waist, then further, over your head so you can discard it to the floor. Normally, you’d fold the dress, but the look in your father’s eyes is _ravenous._ You don’t dare stop.

The white lace of your bra is next. You reach around your back and undo the clasp, the straps slipping down over your shoulders and arms. Your thumbs hook into the dainty fabric around your waist, pushing your panties down over the curve of your hips until gravity takes over and pulls them to the floor.

Hannibal makes a sound like he wants to eat you alive, and, _God,_ do you want to let him.

“Merry Christmas, daddy.” Your voice is as soft as the snow falling outside, but the way he looks at you is like you’re the only real thing in this world. He stands slowly, hands clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles are a stark white. 

“Lie on the bed, my love.”

The silken sheets feel smooth and almost slippery against your skin as you arrange yourself, head atop the pillows and limbs spread across the plush top of the mattress. Your father’s movements are closer to prowling, like a starving animal, than anything human, as he moves to turn on the fireplace and turn off the overhead lights. The flames, as they rise, create a steady, warm glow that feels almost unbearably intimate as he begins to remove his clothes, each inch of skin bared and piece of his suit discarded makes your hands itch to touch, your mouth to kiss and lick and bite.

When he stands at the end of the bed, as naked as you are, you can’t stop the needy, high-pitched whine that escapes your throat. You’ve seen him like this before, but there’s something about tonight, about the knowledge of what is about to happen, that makes him seem otherworldly, divine.

Hannibal finally joins you, closing the space between your bodies as he settles above you, lips capturing yours in a searing kiss that sets your nerves ablaze with warmth and arousal. You whimper into the kiss, pressing your thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure building between them, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past your teeth, deepening the kiss until it feels like he’s devouring you. His hands find your sides and slide up, his body weight lifting slightly so his fingertips can dance across your breasts, ghost over the hardened buds of your nipples until you’re on the verge of begging him to move lower, to touch you _there,_ where you want him.

“Please.” Already panting and squirming, you break away to speak. “Daddy, please.” The smile he gives you is all teeth, and he nips at your lower lip, hand tracing random swirls down your stomach and slipping between your legs. A growl comes from deep in his chest as he finds you already slick, and he wastes no time as a finger plunges into you. 

“Has my little girl been thinking about this all day?” He asks, digit curling so he can pet over your sweet spot. You can only mewl in response, rocking against his hand to try and get him deeper, get more, but he pauses and gives you a harsh look.

“Yes, daddy,” you manage to gasp out, nearly sobbing with relief as he slips another finger inside with ease, scissoring them to test your stretch. “B-been thinking about it for days, imagining what you would feel like.” A strong hand on your inner thigh encourages you to spread out wider, giving him more access. When his hand comes away slightly wet, it moves to squeeze the base of his cock for some form of relief.

“One more, my love,” Hannibal whispers, stroking your g-spot firmly until your back arches off the bed. 

It pushes in slowly, just on the edge of too much. A sound reaches your ears, high and keening, and it takes a second before you realize that it’s coming from your own mouth. There’s a war going on in your father’s eyes: one side of him is concerned, wants to slow down or stop to make sure you’re okay, and the other wants to keep going, push you to your limit. 

“Don’t you dare stop, Daddy.” Your words are slightly slurred from all the feelings coursing through you, pleasure and just the slightest twinge of welcome pain. “Please, take me, fuck me, please.” There’s a sharp intake of breath and suddenly you’re empty, just able to register him fumbling with the bedside table and the click of a cap opening before the blunt head of his cock, already wet with lubricant, is teasing your entrance, up to nudge against your clit, and back down.

“Slowly, little one. Relax.” His voice wavers, but he thrusts in at a torturously unhurried pace. Each inch feels causes you to moan, long and loud, with increasing fervor the deeper he goes. His eyes are locked on your face, eagerly drinking in every expression that crosses your features. It feels like forever before he bottoms out inside of you. He’s so _big,_ longer and thicker than his fingers, but you open up for him like he’s meant to be there.

“ _Yes,_ yes, yes,” you whine, arms wrapping around him and nails digging in right above his shoulder blades. “So full, Daddy, so-so good.” His maroon eyes are watery, like he’s on the verge of crying, and you feel much the same. “I love you, Daddy, more.”

Slow and mind-blowingly deep, he begins to move within you. You continue to cling, eyes rolling back in your head. Words fill your ears, unintelligible to you and whispered in his mother tongue, but his tone tells you everything you need to know.

_You are perfect, I love you, you are my world, I love you._

A hand on your hip tilts you slightly, and the angle is somehow even better. He brushes right against that perfect spot within you, and he grinds in a small circle when his body connects with yours. You’re utterly helpless to stop the sounds coming out of you, endless sobs and whimpers as you continue to plead.

“Make me come.” Tears are openly streaming down your face, and Hannibal looks like he’s seconds away from joining you. “Please, it feels so good, I need…”

“I know, I know,” he coos, dropping a kiss to your forehead as one hand snakes between your bodies. “Let me take care of you.”

Weight propped on his opposite elbow, his thumb begins to slowly circle your clit, light enough to tease and draw out your ascent. The pace of his thrusts quickens, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and collarbone that your tongue darts out to lick. He’s everywhere, taking up every last one of your senses. Your sight is flooded with the dark red of his irises and the black of his lust-blown pupils. The scent of the rosemary used for dinner floods your nostrils, his panting and low words of praise your ears. The salt of his skin lingers on your tongue. You can feel your toes curl, chest heave, inner muscles clench around him in a desperate bid to stop him from pulling out.

“That’s it, princess.” Your father seems to know that you’re beyond words, tears finally spilling over and tracking down his cheeks as well. He’s as close as you are, muscles in his jaw tense and hips losing the steady, even rhythm they had before. “You’ve been such a good girl.” He knows what praise does to you, giving you a brief knowing smile before his face goes completely slack, lost to pleasure. “Daddy’s so happy, so proud of you for letting him have you. You feel so perfect around his cock, tight and wet, like you were made for him.”

“I was,” you confirm, lower lip trembling. It’s like a wave, huge and unstoppable, about to overtake you. Another thrust, another swipe of his thumb, and that’s it. Your voice breaks on a scream, and you scratch down his back so hard there’s almost certainly blood drawn as you come. White obscures your vision for a minute, and you can hear nothing but your own wail.

“I’m going to come inside of you, mazoji,” Hannibal grinds out, and you’re just barely able to catch the words. “Daddy’s going to fill you up so good you’ll _beg_ for it, and one day, he’ll put a baby in you, just like he did with mommy.” Sharp teeth nip at his jaw and he looks down at you, eyes wide as he takes in your wicked smile, the rest of you thoroughly debauched. 

“Give me all of it, Daddy,” you purr, voice low and hoarse. “Want you to breed me, get me pregnant.”

He all but collapses on top of you, pushing in as far as he can go as he reaches his own end. You can feel the way his release coats your walls, and you continue rocking slowly against him, drawing his orgasm out and milking him for everything he’s worth. Seduction is, apparently, something you’re good at, provided it’s your father.

Minutes pass by as the two of you breathe and hold each other, trying to slow your racing hearts and fill your lungs with oxygen. Hannibal is the first to move, rolling off of you, coming to rest at your side. His arms immediately pull you close, cradling you to his chest as his lips brush your forehead.

“You were incredible, beloved,” he rasps. He’s _wrecked,_ throat raw from groans and sobs. “I love you so very, very much.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” you reply, tilting your head up to seek a kiss, which he grants. It’s leisurely and passionate, lips and tongues meeting as you drink down the taste of each other. 

He’s yours, forever, now. You’ll never let another person get close enough to know him like you, and if they try, their heart will be served on a platter. Not Alana, not Bedelia, not Will, not anyone else who’s name he’s dared to speak with even a hint of desire. Despite your young age, you are just as monstrous as him. There’s a beast inside you that he’s fed and encouraged, one strong enough to rival his. If he himself dies, it will be at your hand.

Your hand flattens over his chest, the steady beat against your palm. When you finally part, you can’t help the ways your eyes flash, mouth curling into a smirk that’s so dangerous your savage beauty halts Hannibal’s breath for a minute. Something akin to a growl comes from low and deep in your throat, lashes fluttering in faux-sweetness against your flushed cheeks.

“Mine.”


End file.
